Patience
by Madison Dyann
Summary: Miriam Katz, head physician at Stockton State Prison, only wanted to do her job. But doing so unknowingly puts her between the Russians and the Sons of Anarchy, forcing Miriam to choose between her principles and her life.
1. Chapter 1

**Day Four**

Miriam Katz became a doctor because her father was a doctor, and her grandfather and great grandfather; probably going all the way back to the Jewish exodus her father liked to joke. It wasn't something she was forced into; she liked her chosen profession and she liked that helping others was the family business. Her mother was the head administrator of a women's clinic in Seattle and her father was a retired oncologist who now lectured at UWSOM. Her younger brother had bucked the family tradition though, choosing an east coast banking job instead.

Miriam left Washington after high school to go to college in southern California, slowly making her way back north as time went on but never leaving the sunshine state aside from the infrequent holiday visit home to Seattle. After finishing her residency in Sacramento, she turned down a number of offers from high profile private practices and suburban hospitals for a position at Stockton State Prison. Her fiance's family lived in Berkeley and Miriam didn't want to uproot both their lives over something as shallow as a larger paycheck and a fancy office.

She started out as just a general physician but due to the large turnover rate in the prison industry, Miriam was promoted to head medical officer for the entire prison after just a year and half on the job. She was now in charge of overseeing the work of all the other doctors (on the rare occasion there were any currently employed), the psychiatrists, the nurses, custodians and all the encompassing paperwork. It was a workload she hadn't been prepared for, nor was it something she particularly liked but Miriam was good at her job. At least that was what the warden would tell her whenever she went to his office to complain about something and threatening to quit. And so she stayed, for almost four years now making her one of the longest tenured employees of the entire prison.

Working in a prison had its perks; the pay was actually decent and she got a better rate on her malpractice insurance. And she didn't have to worry about maintaining a client base like those in private practice. It wasn't like her patients could drive across town to another physician if they didn't like her bedside manner, an aspect of her care she had often been told needed work. It wasn't as exciting as people thought. Inmates rarely got shivved, through when it did happen the whole week was a shitstorm as sides attempted to settle scores. Miriam spent most of her time treating head colds and ripping out infected ingrown toenails.

Occasionally inmates would come in with broken noses or bruised ribs, obvious signs of an altercation, but they would never admit anything. It was always some accident that occurred while lifting weights or a rough game of basketball. Miriam had long stopped asking follow up questions regarding the blatant lies; the inmates weren't going change their stories and she didn't have the time to waste by trying.

For the most part, the inmates left her alone. Some would harass her for a narcotics prescription, others would beg for more time in the infirmary. In her nearly four years of working at Stockton State, she had never been physically assaulted and she could count on one hand the times she had been verbally accosted by an inmate. She was polite but Miriam also made it known that she wasn't a pushover, to both the inmates and the COs. She didn't get familiar with anyone, something that came easy to her as she was a naturally reserved and private person. If someone asked her a question, she would answer it but she wouldn't engage in conversation.

The one thing she had no real control over was the staring. New inmates stared because they were trying to figure her out, old inmates liked to stare because it had probably been a while since they saw a woman up close, let alone to be touched by one. COs stared because they were waiting for an inmate to act out and harm her. Miriam really couldn't do anything about the inmates staring; if she told them to stop it would be a sign that it made her uncomfortable, a sign of weakness, and she wasn't willing to give them that power over her. Sometimes she could get a CO to quit staring by directing their attention elsewhere.

Today, there was a lot of stating going on. It was just after lunch when she was called down to the sick bay in A wing. Each wing had its own sick bay where inmates were screened and treated; if their aliment needed further treatment or if the sick bay was full they were sent to the infirmary. The lucky ones with an appointment got to skip the sick bay completely and make the walk straight to the infirmary. When Miriam walked in the room she was greeted by six battered inmates and only five beds. Three she recognized and the others she didn't. There were also five COs in the sick bay, not leaving much room for Miriam to work. Based on the officer presence, the look of the inmates and the overall tension in the room it was obvious there had been a bit of a brawl after lunch.

"Officer Pierce," Miriam addressed the tall CO standing by the door. "Take these three to the infirmary. I'm sure Willington would like something to do that isn't inventory." Nurse Willington had been on the job two weeks and was still terrified of everything and everyone in the prison. He needed to get over that if he was going to keep the job, Miriam thought. Pierce nodded his head before he and another CO corralled the three inmates she recognized out of the sick bay and towards the infirmary. With the potential for another fight gone, the additional COs left, taking the tension with them leaving Miriam with the three new inmates and a watchful CO at the door.

With the logistics handled, Miriam set to work, sterilizing her hands and taking a seat on the wheeled stool before turning to the first inmate on the end of the row of beds, an overweight man with thick frizzy hair that was slowly turning grey and a beard to match. His nose was busted and the knuckles on his right hand were bloodied. "What happened to you?" She rarely expected an honest answer; she used it more as a greeting than anything else.

The man shrugged. "Wasn't paying attention. Bumped into a wall."

Miriam raised an eyebrow. "All three of you? Did the wall fight back?" Again, a rhetorical question as she eyed the three new arrivals, all sporting similar injuries. She filled out the necessary paperwork (names, ID numbers and reason for visit) before pulling on a pair of gloves.

She worked in silence, first cleaning the blood off Robert Munson's hand before checking for any broken bones or cuts. Absent any, she was able to move on to his nose. Miriam was in the middle for checking for a concussion, a requirement for any blow to the head or face, when the felt a presence behind her. She was conscious of the four sets of eyes looking at her, but it was the pair boring into her back that bothered her the most. She turned to see the remaining CO standing only a few steps behind her, looking over her shoulder.

"Is there a reason you're hovering over me, Officer?" Miriam asked with a blank face.

"Weaver. Dylan Weaver." The CO responded, not moving. He was a tall, bulky man whose brown uniform looked to be a size too small with how tight it clinged to his body. His blond hair was buzzed short and overall he looked like an actor from a military recruitment ad. Whether he had deliberately ignored her question or not, Miriam wasn't sure but his non-answer annoyed her anyways. She didn't care what his name was.

Not hiding her eye roll, Miriam turned back to her patient. "On a scale of 1 to 10 how's the pain, Mr. Munson?" His nose wasn't broken but she had to put a bandage over the small cut on the bridge nonetheless.

Miriam noticed him flex his hand, testing his bruised knuckles. "Just a two, doc. I'll live."

Pushing with her feet, Miriam rolled the stool over to the locked medicine cabinet, nearly running over the toes of Officer Weaver along the way, and pulled out a bottle of pain pills. "I'm gonna give you a couple ibuprofen, for the eventual headache you're gonna have by the time you leave. Next time, don't walk into a wall."

The room was silent again as she made her final notes in Munson's chart. Until it wasn't. "What's your name?" It was the CO again. She gave him a look of confusion as she walked, stool temporarily forgotten, to the next patient, a Alexander Trager. This time she physically had to move Weaver out of her path. "Eh, I mean, how do I address you?"

Not bothering to stop examining the cuts to the dark haired man's face in front of her, she sighed. She supposed an answer would be potential to all the newcomers in the room. "Doctor Katz," she didn't like people knowing her first name, even if it was printed right there on her ID badge clipped to the front pocket of her white coat. "But most just refer to me as 'doc', or if you forget, 'hey, lady!' usually works too." The ends of Trager's mouth were turned up into a knowing smirk as he looked at her and she was certain the news that none of his cuts needed stitches wasn't the cause.

She hoped her tone was enough to convey her annoyance at his questions but the CO didn't stop. "You married?"

Her eyes instinctive flickered to the thick golden band on her ring finger. "No."

"Engaged?" Miriam didn't answer, only telling Trager that he needed to keep the cuts clean or else there was a slight risk of infection. He nodded, only now his smirk had widen into a full smile at the interrogation she was enduring. She moved on to the last patient, a man named Happy who looked as though he had never been happy in his entire life. Miriam was beginning to feel the same way.

"What's his name?" Weaver asked, his voice again coming from right behind her. She sighed, feeling the weight of four sets of eyes still staring at her. Done with the questions, she decided to ask her own.

"Are you new?" She didn't recognize him, not that she really made a point of become familiar with COs. There were a few she knew by name, the few she actually trusted. But her focus was usually on the inmates and making sure they had adequate healthcare.

Weaver nodded, proud of himself for finally getting her full attention. "Just transferred from Chino."

"Lucky us," Miriam muttered. Happy Lowman's only injuries were a few bloody and bruised knuckles. "I don't know how they did it down in Chino, Officer Weaver. But in here, I don't need a CO looming over my shoulder, watching me work and getting in my way." The pride in his face quickly faded away. Miriam tossed the bloody gauze into the nearby waste bin. "I don't need a babysitter."

She heard Trager try to suppress a laugh but fail. Weaver opened and closed his mouth a few times as he searched for words. "I'm not babysitting you," he insisted.

Miriam walked back over to her stool and sat down at her desk to finish the patients' paperwork. "Sure, you are. You know you're not required to be in here. You're free to leave and go do something useful."

The door to the sickbay opened, saving Weaver from having to respond. It was Officer Pierce again. "Doc, Tully's waiting for you in the infirmary. You want me to tell a nurse to deal with him?"

With a sigh, Miriam shook her head. "No, Tully's liable to stab them with a needle. I'll do it. I'm finished here anyways. You three need anything else?" She stood, collecting the completed paperwork.

"Nah, doc. We're good." Trager said, the same smile still on his face.

"Right," Miriam nodded, giving the three one last look. "Watch out for walls."

* * *

Clay Morrow had underestimated the reach of the Russian mafia. They had been inside for less than a week and they had already been jumped. Granted it was nothing more than scuffle on the way back from the mess hall but it was evident that the Russians had pull with a number of men inside. Thanks to Alvarez, they had brown's protection but the risk was always there, especially when there was a target on their backs. It was going to be a long fourteen months.

"You guys alright?" Jax said once Tig, Bobby and Happy returned from sickbay. Bobby was sporting a bruised nose, having ditched the bandage once the doctor had walked out the door, and there were some small cuts on Tig's face but they otherwise look whole. The six of them were now gathered around one of the picnic tables in the brown corner of the yard.

"Never been better, brother." Tig said with a smile. Clay raised an eyebrow at his sergeant's enthusiasm. "The doctor's a hottie," he explained. Tig had tried his best to get a good look at her ass the entire time she was there but her long white coat was always in the way. Still, from the way her grey slacks clung to her legs and thighs, Tig could tell the woman was toned, probably once an athlete in school, and that was often accompanied by a great ass.

Juice, sitting atop the table, perked up at the news. " Really?" He looked to Bobby for a more rational take, fully aware of Trager's more unconventional proclivities.

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, she's cute. But she also looks like she wouldn't think twice about knocking the shit out of you." Munson too had noticed the slender muscular build of her body, one that she tried to hid under modest pants and a black turtle neck that was totally unnecessary in the California sun. Her dark brown hair, partially pulled back out of her face, was long and the tight natural curls seemed to be a nuisance to her. She wore no makeup and wrinkles were starting to form around her eyes which were a brown color similar to her hair. Her face was angular and her nose a bit too big based on conventional beauty standards but it was overall a pleasing facade. But the doctor didn't appear to care, which only seemed to add to her appeal. Apathy could easily be confused with confidence.

"She can knocked the shit out of me anytime." Tig joked, the smile never leaving his face.

"If you don't shut up about the bitch, I'm gonna knock the shit out of you." Happy spoke up, not happy that his already talkative cellmate had found an exciting new subject to yap about. Sure, the broad had a nice face and big tits, though Happy couldn't be certain about the latter based on the sweater she was wearing, but he wasn't one to pine after a woman. Even in prison. The attitude she gave the CO was amusing to watch, but Happy could tell she was the type of woman who would treat any man, or woman for that matter, in the same manner and stuck up bitches weren't his thing.

Clay too was done with the conversation. "Keep it in your spank bank, Tiggy. We need to discuss our Soviet problem."


	2. Chapter 2

**Day Twenty Six**

Robert Munson and his friends had a habit of walking into walls it seemed and it was soon becoming an everyday occurrence. After their third visit with Miriam, out of curiosity she had taken a look at their files, hoping to find a cause for their constant need for medial attention. Normally, Miriam only looked at an inmate's file if she needed to review their medical records or any possible insurance plans that could pay for the care instead of the state. Rarely did she seek out an inmate's criminal history; it was almost never helpful and Miriam was determined to see the men in her care more as patients than criminals. The bars on the windows were reminder enough.

Six of them had entered Stockton State together, on the same federal weapon charges and with the same sentence. Four she had met already: Munson, Trager, Lowan and a young man named Ortiz. It didn't take Miriam long to find a gang affiliation indicted in their files: Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club. She was familiar with the group and not just because she lived a stone's throw away from Charming. She had lost count of the number of times she had to bandage up Otto Delaney before he was ultimately put on death row. And then there were the cancer screenings she routinely did for Lenny Janowitz. Being aware of gang affiliations was important at the every least to know which inmates you couldn't put in a room together but beyond knowing who was with who, Miriam was ignorant of the inter-workings and politics of the different groups. It was none of her business.

Black inmates usually stuck together, though there were individual gangs among them but they rarely butted heads. The same went for the Latino inmates. When it came to the white guys it was harder to tell. The most obvious were the neo-Nazis, easily identifiable by their less than covert tattoos. The Italian Mafia had a presence, the Chinese too. But the wall the Sons kept bumping into seemed to be the Russians. But of course, Miriam couldn't do anything about it since all parties involved refused to admit to being a victim of inmate misconduct. Instead, she had go on treating the injuries as if they were results of accidents.

Miriam came into work late that morning, having took a couple hours off in preparation for her overnight shift, to find a couple of them sitting in the infirmary. When Miriam walked into the infirmary, just in time to give Tully his weekly B12 shot, she found Willington fumbling through paperwork for two Sons. She needed to fire that kid, Miriam thought. He was good with inventory, clean up and scheduling but every time he was put in front of an inmate he got all fidgety. But Miriam didn't want to restart the application and interview process all over again. Hiring another doctor was always a constant necessity and Miriam wasn't in the mood to add a nursing position to the "to do" pile. Maybe he would grow out of it and accept that working in a prison meant working with inmates. After giving Tully his injection, and listening to his usual attempts at engaging her in conversation, Miriam decided to give the nervous boy a break and take over for him.

"Go find something useful to do." Miriam said, before the nurse all but ran out of the observation room tossing a 'yes ma'am' over his shoulder along the way. Today it was an older man named Clay Morrow and a return visitor in Happy Lowman. Cause of injuries: the classic rough game of basketball. Miriam knew none of the inmates had yard time this early in the day but she kept that to herself. Again, none of her business. Cleaning bloody knuckles and checking for concussions was her business so she put her focus on that and not the half-assed lies she heard on a daily basis.

It wasn't long before a CO checked in on her. Officer Donald Pierce has been a CO at Pelican Bay for almost a decade before he transferred to Stockton State a couple years ago. He never interfered with her work nor did he treat her like a child playing in a snake pit. Miriam liked him enough that it didn't annoy her when he spoke to her, thankful he always kept the conversation work related. "You take Tully back down?" Miriam asked, hoping the private observation room that doubled as her office was empty so she could eat a quick breakfast in peace.

Officer Pierce nodded, "I had Johnson do it. He needs the exercise." Miriam choose not to comment on Officer Johnson nor his excess weight. "Does it ever bother you?"

"Does what ever bother me?" She didn't look up from Happy's knuckles where she placed a cold compress to ease the bruising. "Here, hold this on your hand for twenty minutes," she said, giving Happy the job of holding his own compress so she could move on to the other patient. This was the fourth time Miriam had to tend to Happy Lowman in less than a month, though it was always for injured knuckles, nothing more. He was older than Miriam, with brown skin that appeared to be nearly covered entirely in tattoos. There was even one atop his shaved head. He rarely spoke, which Miriam appreciated, especially in comparison to his younger comrade Ortiz who had nearly talked her to death during his one visit to the A wing sick bay.

"Helping guys like Tully? With you being Jewish and all?" Pierce explained, remaining by the door, arms crossed.

Miriam assumed he was referring to Tully being apart of the Aryan Brotherhood and all those neo-Nazi symbols he had tattooed on his body, some quite visible. In truth, it wasn't something she ever thought about. "It doesn't matter if it bothers me. I still have to do my job, regardless of a patient's personal feelings. No matter how foolish." She walked over to the small fridge to retrieve another cold compress. "And it's not like it bothers Tully much."

Pierce raised an eyebrow. "He knows?"

"Oh, yeah. He's been asking me to switch him to kosher meals for a month now." She placed the compress on Clay's hand, telling him to do the same as Happy. "I'm sure you know this but if you don't stop punching things with that hand, it's gonna be useless." Miriam added, remembering the details of Clay's arthritis from his file. Clay opened his mouth to respond but was cut off when the sound of a commotion in the entry area caught their attention. There were calls for a doctor and Miriam was out the door without a second thought.

There were more COs than normal and it took Miriam a second to realize they were carrying a body. "Put him in here," she said opening the door to the lesser used room that was usually reserved for emergencies. "If you're not a licensed medical professional, get out!" Miriam yelled, quickly putting on a new set of gloves as the COs quickly left the room, leaving just her and Willington. Neeman, a more experienced nurse, wasn't set to begin her shift for another couple hours. It was just the two of them and the wounded inmate.

The first thing that caught her attention was the amount of blood. The inmate's white shirt was soaked red and it didn't take Miriam long to find the cause. There were three entry wounds in his chest, near his heart and just below the tattoo of the name Abel. It was the obvious result of a stabbing, an attempted murder. Based on the amount of blood, it must have taken the COs a while to get to him and move him to the infirmary. She looked up to see Willington preparing the monitors. The nurse was pale and shaking but he hadn't froze yet. The inmate's heart rate was steady and his blood pressure stable, a good sign that his heart or arteries hadn't been punctured. The most immediate danger was the constant flow of blood pouring out of the wounds. On the same page, Willington handed her a thick gauze to press to the wound, instead of just her gloved hands.

She glanced up to thank him when she noticed the nurse had stopped moving and was simply staring at the bloody mess before them. "Hey, hey!" She called for his attention, which he reluctantly gave, eyes threatening to roam back towards the patient. "I need you to call St. Joseph's and tell them to send an ambulance. Quickly. Tell them we have a traumatic stab wound victim whose lost a lot of blood, okay." She needed to seal the would to keep air from entering and collapsing his lung. Only she didn't have the resources or manpower to do that safely. It was just her and one newbie nurse who was three seconds away from having a panic attack. The man needed a hospital.

After a moment, Willington returned, not looking quite as pale, to tell her the ambulance was on its way. A groan from the patient pulled her attention to his face, his shaggy blonde hair covered in sweet and blood. His eyes opened and Miriam took the moment to evaluate him. His face was pale but there was no sign of cyanosis. No bulging veins and his breathing was even but a bit shallow which Miriam attributed to the pressure she was applying to his chest. "What's your name, kid?" She asked. She saw Officer Weaver appear in the doorway and open his mouth to answer but a look from her silenced him. She need to know how coherent the bloody man beneath her was.

"Jax. Jackson Teller." His voice was pained but he was lucid.

Miriam kept eye contact with him, brown eyes on blue."Okay, Jackson. You've been stabbed in the chest," as if he wasn't aware, Miriam thought. "We're gonna need to transfer you to St. Joseph." He gave the slightest of nods, indicting that he understood. "Okay, Willington. We need to move to him to the transfer bay so he's ready when the ambulance arrives." Together, they wheeled Teller through the halls towards the transport bay with a handful of CO's following behind. It was an awkward journey for Miriam, who had to keep enough pressure on the inmate's chest to stop the bleeding while simultaneously walking fast enough to keep up with the moving gurney. She managed to do so without tripping over her own feet and they arrived in the transport bay in time to see the ambulance pass though the outer gate.

While they waited for the ambulance to clear all the prison checkpoints, Miriam felt a hand on her arm. She looked down to see Jackson trying to get her attention. His grip was gentle but firm, which Miriam accepted as another sign that the weapon had not caused any serious damage. Beyond the severe blood loss at least. "The ambulance will be here any second, Jackson. You're gonna be okay." She said, giving him the best smile she could manage. But with the amount of blood she was covered in, Miriam wasn't sure how comforting it was.

Teller took a deep breath, an action that was of no help in preventing a collapsed lung but Miriam really couldn't do anything about that at this point. In thirty seconds, he would be in the hands of the EMTs who at least had the means to properly seal the wound. "I need you to call…" He closed his eyes, straining to speak. "Call Tara. Tell her what happened." He breathed. Miriam nodded, before she moved out of the way so the EMT could take her place.

She watched as the inmate was transferred into the back off the ambulance, a CO climbing in with the medics, as was prison protocol. A couple more COs in a vehicle would follow behind the ambulance on the way to the hospital. When the transfer bay was empty once again, Miriam headed back to the infirmary. Willington followed, looking relieved to free of the wounded inmate. With a slap on the shoulder, she pulled the nurse out of his thoughts. "You did a good job." He nodded. "When we get back, I need you to call St. Joseph's again and give them Jackson Teller's file. He's probably going to be there a while." She figured giving him another job to do would keep his mind busy and away from the gory slights of all the last few minutes.

As for Miriam, she needed to change her clothes and figure out who Tara was and call her. She was on her way to her office when Clay Morrow appeared in the open doorway of the observation room she had abandoned just twenty minutes before. Miriam had forgotten that she had other patients. "Hey!" The grey haired man called, getting her attention. Miriam didn't miss how his face grew concerned when he saw the amount of blood covering her clothes. "He gonna be okay?"

She nodded. "As long as his lung doesn't collapse in transit, he should be fine. He'll need to spend some time in hospital though." Miriam noticed his face relax a bit before all emotion was hidden behind a stoic mask. "I gotta make a phone call and change. You okay to wait?" Clay nodded, retreating back into the observation room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Day Twenty Six**

It didn't take long for Miriam to find out who Tara was, she was listed right there under Teller's emergency contacts. The call went more smoothly than the doctor excepted. In the past when she had to call family members to inform them of life threatening injuries or of the death of an inmate, there was usually lots of crying and questions Miriam couldn't answer. Usually the whys and the whos. But Tara just wanted to know if Teller was going to be okay. She asked the type of questions that Miriam could answer, medical ones, leaving Miriam to wonder if the woman was a doctor herself or just very familiar with stab wounds. Given she was the emergency contact for an incarcerated gang member, either option was a probable one. After giving all the information she could to Tara, Miriam said her goodbyes and hung up the phone, more aware now of her blood soaked blouse. Making certain her office door was shut, she quickly changed into the simple black tee shit she had stored in the small closet. Tossing her white coat, also blood stained, over the back of the chair, she clipped her ID badge to her waistband before heading back to work now that she was blood free and presentable.

When she stepped back out into the lobby, she noticed three inmates just standing around. She recognized all three of them and none had appointments nor did they look injured. "Can I help you?" She asked, confused. No one answered her. They just stood there loitering but Miriam could tell something was wrong. Willington was no where to be seen. It was just her and them in the infirmary. And then she remember the Sons in the observation room. She looked in that direction and found the door closed and the blinds pulled. Without a second glance at the three men, Miriam marched to the observation room and barged in.

Inside, Miriam found two COs struggling to restrain Happy Lowman and an already restrained Clay Morrow who was now sporting a very bloody nose. She watched as Happy landed a rough blow to a CO's stomach as they tried to forced his wrist in the cuff on the edge of the bed. No one had heard her enter and so Miriam slammed the door loudly behind her to get their attention. "Does anyone care to explain to me what's happening in here?" Through it was already obvious to Miriam as the two OCs, Weaver and Donovan, backed away from an enraged but rooted Happy.

"Take your break, Katz." Weaver said with what Miriam assumed was meant to be a threatening look.

"Already took a break," she lied.

"So take another."

Miriam moved her eyes to Officer Donovan, a short bulky man who was a real pushover mentality wise. "Get out of here! And take those inmates in the lobby with you." Donovan moved to leave, a child heading to timeout after being caught with a hand in the cookie jar, but Weaver's hand on his chest stopped him short.

"Leave, goddammit." Weaver almost yelled.

"And what happens when I step out?" She asked, stepping closer to him, aware of the way his hand griped his utility belt next to his canister of pepper spray.

"That's none of your concern."

"It is my concern if its gonna result in injury to my patients." She looked back to Donovan. "Get out and I'll forget this happened." This time Weaver let him leave. "I know you're new here, Officer. So, I'm going to give you break. This is my infirmary, and I'm the one in charge here. I don't give a shit what kind of nonsense happens outside this area. What deals are made, who needs to settle a score, who's paying who. I don't care. None of that bullshit happens here." She knew she was making him angry, or angrier than he already was at her interruption, but Miriam didn't care.

Weaver snickered, taking another step closer. "You should be more careful, Katz."

"Or what?"

"Or I tell our AB friends that the doctor is a Jewish dyke."

Miriam shrugged. "You do whatever you need to do, Weaver. But you do it outside of my infirmary. Now get out." The CO finally left, pushing Miriam to the side on his way to the door. When the door shut behind him, Miriam stomped over to Clay to undo his restraints. "I don't know what you did," she started, all but pointing her finger in the older man's face. "But it's really starting to become a pain in my ass."

* * *

Clay considered the angry woman in front of him. She was in her early thirties, her thick brown hair was pulled into a high ponytail and with the well toned arms that were now visible without her coat Clay understood what Bobby had meant when he said the doctor looked capable of knocking the shit out of someone. He had half expected her to sock the CO in the face during their back and forth, the way she hadn't cowered under his threats. But now, with the immediate danger gone and the adrenaline fading, Clay could see the cracks in her tough girl facade. The most obvious being the shaking hands.

"Are you going to report this?" Clay asked, rubbing his wrists where the COs had been less than gentle.

The woman huffed, hands on her hips. "Clean the blood off your face," she said before tossing him a clean white towel. "No, I'm not going to report it. It would be pointless since I know you two will deny anything happened in here. Honor among thieves bullshit." She was standing in the corner, arms folded, trying to fully regain her composure.

How the woman had survived so long in this place, Clay didn't know. "You should have left the room." The fading anger returned and the doctor's face nearly turned red in annoyance. "But we're grateful you didn't." He looked to a still standing Happy, who nodded in agreement.

The doctor reached out and took the bloody towel from Clay now that his face was free of blood and tossed in the waste bin. She turned to the sink to wash her hands. "I didn't do it for you. I'm just not in the mood to treat two more stab victims. I don't have another change of clothes."

The woman liked to hide behind apathy. "It's not smart to get on the wrong side of a CO."

"You apparently have." The doctor eyed the two of them as she dried her hands.

"Comes with the territory. And we have friends. How often are you alone there?"

"You saying Officer Weaver is gonna jump me?"

"More likely he'll look the other way when whoever was on the other side of that door decides Doctor Do Right is too much of an inconvenience."

She appeared to ignore his statement, sitting on the stool and flipping through paperwork. After a couple minutes of silence in which both Clay and Happy simply stared at her, trying to figure her out, she finally spoke. "How's the arthritis?"

Clay didn't spare a look at his bruised hand. "Still there."

"If it hurts, I can give you a cortisone shot. Just the one, can't make it a regular thing." She pulled a couple gloves from the box on her desk, next to the phone. A thought occurred to him then.

"Can I use your phone?"

"No!" Katz nearly broke her neck looking up at him. "Why?"

Clay shrugged and pretended to consider things for a second. "The attempted murder of my stepson and the shitstorm that just went down prevented me from calling my wife today within the proper phone hours."

Miriam raised an eyebrow. "Teller is your stepson?" He nodded. She went silent for a minute, something Clay noticed she had a habit of doing. She kept her face expressionless but Clay knew she would say yes. Despite her uncompromising posture, he could tell she was ultimately a fair woman. "Okay, fine but no funny business. What's her number?" Clay watched she punched the numbers into the old black office phone. "You got five minutes," she added before handing him the receiver and rolling her stool over to Happy to check him for additional injuries.

It didn't take long for Gemma, who was surprised to hear her husband's voice, to answer. "You at the hospital with Jax?" He asked after assuring her he himself was fine.

"Yeah, the doctors say he's gonna be okay. Bed ridden for a few weeks but he'll be whole." Gemma sounded tired for it be barely noon. "Clay, what the hell is going on in there? I thought you had protection."

"Let's just say we underestimated the reach of our red comrades."

"What phone are you using? It came up as Stockton Prison on the caller ID?"

"The doctor let me use the phone in the infirmary."

"The doctor?"

Clay lowered his voice so no one else in the room could hear. "Yeah, her name's Miriam Katz." He made sure to get a good look at her ID badge when she had put an ice pack on his hand earlier in the day. "Tell Chibs to look into her."

"Why?"

"Because I think she saved our lives today."

* * *

Miriam didn't know why she let Clay use the phone. It was totally against prison policy, and Miriam wasn't known for bucking the system. This place didn't work without rules and she was determined to follow them, even if everyone refused to the same. But Clay had asked to call his wife. His stepson had just been stabbed and had almost bled to death in the room next door and a group of Russians had just attempted to do the same to him. So, calling his wife seemed like a reasonable request, a request Miriam was a capable of fulfilling. So she did.

Instead of pondering more on her poor judgment, Miriam moved towards where Happy Lowman stood, back against the wall in the space separating two beds, arms crossed. She gestured towards his hand, the one that seemed to be constantly bruised and bloody. "You want another ice pack for that hand?" The tattooed inmate shook his head. "You need anything at all?"

Happy looked down at her then to where she sat and Miriam suddenly felt exposed. His dark eyes were like deep pools of water where you couldn't see the bottom. Miriam didn't like it but she also couldn't look away. "Nothing you can give me." He said finally, looking away towards the door.

"Right," she muttered, feeling exhausted by all that had transpired in the past hour.

"You really a dyke?"

For once in her life, Miriam was flustered, nearly choking on her own tongue. "Uh, it depends on how you define dyke?"

Happy looked back to her again, eyebrow raised and curiosity on his face. It was a strange look compared to his usual stoic expressions. "You gay?"

"No, I'm not gay." Miriam was pretty sure this crossed over into the inappropriate area of conversation to be having with an inmate, but the man had asked. She was letting inmates use her phone now and answering personal questions. Today wasn't a day for rules it seemed. "I just prefer women."

Happy looked her over for a second. From the simple black flats on her feet to the unruly curls that sat in a mess atop her head. "Pretty sure that makes you a dyke." Thankfully, Clay had decided to end his phone call then, allowing for a change in conversation. Miriam rolled her stool around so she could have both inmates in sight.

"Thanks again, doc." Miriam couldn't quite tell if Clay's smile was sincere. Today made no sense.

"Don't expect another one. You want that cortisone shot or not?" She hadn't missed how he kept flexing his hand.

The old man shook his head. "Save it for later."

Miriam nodded and rose to her feet. "So, you two want to head back to gen pop or do you want to stick around up here awhile longer?" She walked to the door and opened it. The lobby was empty, save for Willington who sat at a desk, looking over paperwork. Miriam wasn't sure what awaited them back in gen pop but she hoped it wouldn't end up back on her doorstep.

"We'll head back, don't want to get in the way of your work up here." The pair moved out of the room and towards the guard station at the end of the hall. "Take care of yourself, doc." Clay said, giving her one last look over before walking away.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Miriam muttered to herself, ready to take her break.


	4. Chapter 4

**Day Twenty Seven**

No one was to go anywhere alone. That rule had been in place before Jax got jumped but he still somehow ended up in line for a phone call by himself. As for who did the actual shiving, Clay had no one idea. There were only a handful of ethnic Russians in Stockton State and whether they had help from another group was yet to be determined. The AB were certainly no friends of the Sons, even if SOA had outed Zobelle as a rat. Most likely, they would have to wait for Jax to return to get that information. If any of them were still alive by that point, that is. They needed to settle this Russian beef, at least while over half the charter was in prison. Chibs would need to get a sit down with Putlova. Clay just had to figure out how to do that without killing any more members hurt.

Miriam Katz was another unknown. Clay had asked around and the doctor had a reputation for being rather draconian in her bedside manner. She didn't baby anyone, didn't prescribe unneeded drugs, especially of the narcotic variety, and she didn't like inmates faking injuries or illnesses just for a change in scenery. She would let you linger in the infirmary or sickbay while she finished paperwork and cleaned up but no extended rest time, unless of course it was medically necessary. Despite all this, Doctor Katz seemed to garner a strange degree of respect from the inmate population. Everyone knew what to expect from her and where she stood in the ever changing power dynamics of prison life. At the end of the day, the COs were not exactly reliable, even if they took your bribes. COs could be bought and their loyalty went to the highest bidder, and someone with deeper pockets could always come along and knock you down. But the only money Miriam Katz accepted came from the state department of corrections in the form of a biweekly paycheck. She wasn't one to look the other way, no matter how much money was waved in front of her. But she had let Clay use her phone. And he didn't even have to bargain.

The woman's principles had got her into trouble though. Her interference wasn't something the Russian Mafia would let slide, no matter how noble her intentions. They would feel the need to teach her a lesson, both as a form of retaliation for messing with their business and as insurance to prevent any future occurrences. The severity of that lesson depended on Miriam's willingness to conform her behavior. At the same time, Clay himself was having trouble deciding what to do about her actions. If the roles were reserved and it had been them attempting to jump the Russians in the infirmary, Miriam Katz would have acted in the same manner. She had no loyalty to the Sons of Anarchy. She didn't have any loyalty to anyone else either. Just her moral compass which seemed to be a carbon copy of the prison employee handbook. But she had let Clay use her phone. There was room there for them to work together, he determined; how much room though, Clay wasn't sure yet. Of course, that was if the Russians didn't get to her first.

Bobby was thinking the same thing. "So, how long before the doc gets sent to the gulag?" He asked as they sat together at breakfast the day after Jax's attack.

"You think they'll really off the one doctor this place has?" Juice questioned, inspecting the yellow substance meant to be eggs with his fork.

"Pretty sure the Russians don't take too kindly to women interfering with their business." Bobby said between bites of toast. "Either they'll offer her a deal she can't refuse or cut right to the chase and she'll be six feet under before the week is out."

"Either way, it's bad news for us." Clay said. The infirmary and sickbay were the least secure areas of the prison. It wasn't uncommon for prisoners to be left alone together, unsupervised for a fair amount of time. Miriam was right when she said she was charge of everything in those spaces. She could kick COs out of an observation room, and even the infirmary as a whole. She determined how long an inmate was there. She could even have inmates sent to ad seg, if a medical condition warranted it. Depending on her inclination, she could be a friend or foe to anyone who wanted to do something nefarious behind bars.

"Alexei!" Officer Weaver called out from his place by the hallway that went towards the administrative offices. "Infirmary! Now." A short, stocky man covered in tattoos rose from the table in the back and made his way over to Weaver, his fellow Russians barely concealing their smirks.

Tig's brows furrowed. "That's not the type of guy you send if you wanna have a discussion."

Happy used the distraction to swipe Tig's toast. He didn't pay Weaver nor Ivo Alexei a second glance as he took a bite of the slightly burnt piece of bread. Miriam Katz had dug her grave and now she going to have to lie in it. All Happy Lowman had to do was finish his breakfast and suppress the need to bloody his knuckles again.

* * *

Miriam was fives minutes away from the end of her nearly 20 hour shift. Thankfully, no more bloodied bodies had been carried in and the work was relatively light. She even managed to get a decent amount of sleep overnight, even if it was on the folding cot in her office. But she needed a shower and a warm meal that didn't come out of a microwave.

She was restocking gloves and cotton balls when Officer Weaver escorted Ivo Alexei into the infirmary, heading straight for the empty observation room. She had sent Willington down to the sickbay in B wing to deal with a reported case of kidney stones and Conner was on medication duty. Once again, Miriam found herself alone in the infirmary, Clay Morrow's words ringing in her head. She watched Weaver leave Alexei in the observation room and walk back out again. "He doesn't have an appointment." Miriam stated.

Weaver didn't stop walking. "He said he's having stomach pains."

"So, why isn't he in sickbay?" Miriam asked, now looking at Weaver's back as he headed out of the exit.

"Thought I'd do you a favor and bring him here." Weaver called over his shoulder. "Save you the walk, doc."

For the second time in one shift, Miriam huffed and put her hands on her hips. Throwing on her now clean white coat and making certain the panic button she had never had to use hung around her neck, Miriam headed towards the observation room. She entered, leaving the door open, to find Alexei resting on the far bed. He remained seated as Miriam washed her hands and pulled on a pair of gloves. Nothing out of the ordinary so far.

"What's the problem?" Miriam asked, not taking her eyes off the bed and its occupant. He gave no answer, he simply started at her with an expressionless face. If Ivo Alexei spoke English, he never did so in front of Miriam. "The CO said you were having stomach pains?" Alexei nodded then, spoke some words in Russian and gestured towards his stomach. "Right," Miriam muttered. She grabbed a stethoscope from the nearby desk and moved to the bed. "Lift up your shirt -"

Hands collapsed on her throat, jerking her forward. Dropping the stethoscope, Miriam acted more with instinct than with anything she learned from a half dozen self-defense classes she had attended throughout her life. First she clawed at Alexei's hands, trying to pry them off her throat where they were threatening to crush her trachea. When that failed, she decided to take advantage of their close proximity and punch him in the face. Her fist landed just below his left eye and he dropped her, having been caught off guard. Miriam's head nearly bounced off the tile floor as her body collapsed to the ground. She quickly pressed the panic button that hung around her neck and she heard it beep signaling that it was activated. Now every CO on duty was alerted to her location and that there was a dangerous situation occurring. Not even Weaver could cover that up. But the panic button didn't protect her from the kick that landed in her stomach. If she had ate breakfast, it would have reappeared on the floor.

Miriam rolled onto her back and kicked out, aiming for the man's knees. Despite the horrible angle, the resulting pain at the realignment of his joint was enough for Miriam to climb to her feet and make for the door. She had got lucky. Lucky that Ivo Alexei wasn't that fast on his feet. And lucky that Officer Pierce had too decided to bypass the sickbay and escort Happy Lowman straight to the infirmary after he nearly vomited on Donovan's shoes at the end of breakfast. They were only feet away from the infirmary guard station with the beeper on Pierce's hip went off, signalling a medical personnel was in danger. Her location was announced over the radio a few second later. Whoever was supposed to be on duty at the guard station wasn't there and so Happy had gotten handcuffed to the gate that separated the infirmary from the rest of the prison and abandoned as Pierce ran off in search of Miriam.

Miriam didn't see Pierce before she barrelled into him, stopping her flight from Ivo Alexei and the infirmary. More COs appeared then, including Weaver, and the situation was brought under control. Miriam was escorted to the warden office as Alexei was taken to the SHU. Happy was taken back to gen pop after he insisted he was feeling fine.

* * *

News of the attack on Miriam had spread and by yard time, it was all everyone was talking about. The vomit trick had been Tig's idea but he had complained that he didn't have the stomach control for it. So, Happy had stuffed the runny eggs into his mouth and chugged the watered down orange juice before walking over to a CO to complain about his stomach. What came back up was a gross chunky mess of yellow and Happy was thankful he managed to miss getting any of it on himself. And either Ivo Alexei was incompetent or Miriam Katz was extremely lucky, because the doctor had managed to survive a hit on her life without losing any blood at all. Rumor was that Ivo would be spending the next eight months in solidarity. Roughing up a CO was one thing, but laying hands on a medical personnel was a big no-no.

Clay couldn't help but wonder whether this was enough for Miriam to rethink her attitude. She had remained strong in the face of verbal threats from a CO but would violence from an inmate be too much for her? The Russians could always try again, but he figured they would most likely wait before making another move, hoping the lesson was learned. Chibs was set to visit later today, and Clay hoped the Scot had managed to get some information on the doctor, despite the short notice.

Looking down at his bad hand, which was now prone to fits of shaking, Clay wished he had accepted the cortisone shot. It might have been his once chance to get one while inside. "Mr. Morrow?" he heard a voice call from behind him. He turned from his position atop their usually picnic table to see Miriam Katz standing by the outer of the two fences that separated the yard from the employee pathway that led around to the main entrance. She was wearing the same clothes he had last seen her in, only now with a dark green cardigan and a messenger bag which Clay assumed acted as her purse. Her pony tail was barely standing and even from this distance, Clay could tell she was exhausted. "Can I talk with you a minute?" She asked when he didn't move from the table.

Slightly unsure if talking to the prison doctor through a fence was something that could get him in trouble with a CO, Clay made the walk over. Tig, always a sergeant-at-arms, followed. "How can I help you, doc?" He asked, taking in the slight bruising around her slender neck.

The doctor looked uncertain for a moment. "I assume you heard what happened?"

Clay nodded. "About your little run in with Ivan Drago? Yeah, we heard. Don't tell me you're surprised?"

Her face turned sour. "Pardon me for being surprised when someone tries to strangle me."

"You look okay to me." He considered her for a moment more. "You didn't say anything, did you?"

"About yesterday? No. I told the warden that Alexei attacked me, not why." She adjusted the strap of her bag.

"So, what are you going to do now?" Clay asked, aware that she had walked here to ask something of him.

"The warden is forcing me to take a few days vacation. I should be back Tuesday." Clay noticed her eyes scan the area, looking for any possible eavesdroppers. "I guess, I was wondering if I had anything to be worried about, you know, out here." Miriam gestured vaguely in the direction of the parking lot but Clay knew what she meant. She was worried about being attacked on the outside. And Clay knew she had reason to be concerned.

"Do you own a gun?" He asked bluntly.

"What? No. Do I need one?"

Clay looked to Tig then for a second, who nodded. "You might see some guys on motorcycles outside your home. Don't worry about them; they're just there to watch over you." He stepped back from the fence, ready to be finished with this conversation before a CO got suspicious.

"I-what-no, wait. What does that mean, goddammit?" She nearly shouted when she noticed he was about to walk away.

"Take care, doc." Clay called over his shoulder without much of a last look at the disgruntled woman who was now stomping away from the fence as well.

Tig, as always, was looking. "I knew she had a great ass."


	5. Chapter 5

**Day Twenty-Seven**

The rest of the day had been calm. The Russians continued to glare in their direction but they kept their distance. By afternoon visitation, the breakfast incident was almost a distant memory but Clay refused to relax as he sat down at the metal table in front of Chibs. After a brief update on business and Jax's health, Clay turned the conversation to the woman who had unwittingly positioned herself into their lives.

"You find anything out about our doctor friend?" Clay asked with his large hands resting atop the square table.

"Doesn't seem to be much to find out." Chibs started, running a hand through his greying hair. "Miriam Ariel Katz, 33. Born in Seattle to a rather wealthy family, did most of her early education at a Jewish private school. Pre-med at USC, Stanford for her MD. Before Stockton State, she did her residency in Sacramento. Nowadays, she lives alone in Morada, next to the cherry orchard. She was engaged for a couple years to a Miss Elizabeth Flannery but she died of brain cancer about six months ago. Her parents still live in Seattle, her brother works on Wall Street now and she's as clean as a whistle. Not even a speeding ticket. No large debts. Why the interest?" Clay told him about Alexei and the incident with the COs in the observation room."You worried the Russians might try again?"

"I wouldn't put it pass them to be eager to off the nosy doc."

The Scot nodded in agreement. "You want us to reach out?"

Clay thought for a moment. The five of them had discussed the possibility of the Russians making another attempt, and whether or not they should do something. No one wanted to see the doctor hurt but they also had to acknowledge the limited resources they had on the outside at the moment. Bobby had pointed out their numbers on the inside could be reduced once again if something were to happened to Miriam. Keeping her away from the Russians was in the club's best interests, they had decided. The means of doing that was another question.

"Keep an eye on her. Not a prospect," they were all too new to be put on guard duty, especially when the Russians were involved. "But don't overextend yourselves. Our other business comes first. And give her a gun, even if she refuses."

* * *

 **Day Twenty-Eight**

Miriam tried her best not be paranoid. She drove the speed limit on her way home from work yesterday, even managing to stop at the market on the way. When she did get home, after taking a longer way than usual route, Miriam parked her car in the seldom used garage before double-checking every window and door in the house. When she was certain the home was secure, she turned off all the lights and watched crappy television, with the volume turned down, until she fell asleep on the couch at 3AM.

She was startled awake by a banging on her front door. The previous day's events came flooding back her and Miriam fell to the floor as another knock at the door echoed through her home. Would someone who wanted to kill her knock first? That seemed unlikely to Miriam but then again, she had never had someone try to kill her before. Unsure, Miriam climbed to her feet. According to the clock on the wall, it was well past noon. She was dressed in her makeshift pajamas, a large USC tee shirt and athletic shorts. She didn't need a mirror to know her hair was a ratty mess. Moving as quietly as she could, bare feet padding softly against the dark wooden floor, Miriam walked to the kitchen and pulled a cutting knife from the draw.

"Hey, doctor lady." She heard a voice call from the other side of the door. "Clay sent me." The man on her doorstep added the second bit in a quieter voice but she still heard it.

"Sonofabitch." Miriam muttered. She noticed she was swearing more often in recent days. Knife in hand, she made her over to the front door and, with a deep breath, opened the door just enough to see who was on the other side. He was taller than her with spiky blonde hair and he wore a black leather vest over a long sleeve shirt. Miriam looked over his shoulder to spot a motorcycle parked in her otherwise empty driveway.

"You certainly don't look like a doctor." His tone was mocking, as he looked down at her.

The smirk on his thin mouth annoyed her. "What does a doctor look like?" She kept a solid grip on the knife.

"I don't know, but you look like a hung over college freshman whose on the verge of failing her philosophy class."

Miriam raised an eyebrow at his detailed description. "You know a lot of college girls?" His smirk grew into a smile, and Miriam was reminded of Tig Trager. "What do you want?"

"Clay told us to keep an eye on you, in case any Russian suitors come knocking. So, you gonna let me in or. . . " Against her better judgment, letting a strange man into your home was never a smart option, Miriam stepped back and swung the door open. The blonde took a couple steps inside, his blue eyes taking in the space around him. It took only a second for him to notice the knife in her hand. "You doing something with that, honey?"

Shutting the door behind him, but not locking it, Miriam ignored the ache in her back, a reward for sleeping on the couch, before turning back to the blonde. "Only if you make me." Her voice was rough from sleep and she was beginning to feel self-conscious. The last man to be in her house was Lizzie's brother when he visited last summer, before Lizzie's cancer had taken a turn for the worst. Now there was a man wearing a Sons of Anarchy kutte standing in her entryway. Miriam had thought her life had hit rock bottom when her fiancee died but now the Russian mafia wanted her dead and the local criminal motorcycle club wanted to protect her. Her response earned her gruff laugh from the blonde whose name she didn't know. "Who are you?" She asked bluntly.

"Kozik." The one name man offered his hand, which she accepted with a quick shake.

"Miriam." She assumed he already knew her name, despite him calling her "doctor lady" earlier. "How does this work?"

"Is it okay if I look around? Make sure all windows and doors are secure?" Miriam nodded. She knew everything was locked, but she figured he would insist nonetheless. "And you can put that knife down if you want."

Naturally, the task didn't take Kozik long to complete. Miriam passed the time by leaning against the kitchen counter, knife resting atop the dark marble well within her reach. She watched with her arms crossed as he moved from room to room, finishing with a glance over the large bay window in the living room. "Nice house you got, doc." Kozik said, probably trying to ease the awkward tension in the air.

Miriam and Lizzie had bought the house almost three years prior when their apartment in Lodi started to feel too small. It seemed like a big investment for a couple who weren't even engaged yet but they had been dating for ten years at that point, having met sophomore year of college at USC. They had got lucky with the house. The three bedroom farmhouse had been newly renovated when the previous owner defaulted on their mortgage, allowing the couple to purchase it for a lower amount than it was ultimately worth. Lizzie liked that was surrounded by the cherry orchard and that the nearest neighbor was a half mile down the road, Miriam had been a big fan of the deep seated whirlpool tub in the master bathroom. But now, since Lizzie's death, the house seemed too big and too expensive for one person. But Miriam wasn't sure she could bring herself to move.

"I guess I underestimated the salaries of prison doctors." Kozik contemplated, pulling Miriam from her own thoughts.

She shrugged. "About a decade ago, DOC implemented higher salaries to help retain medical staff in prisons. It worked for the most part, but Stockton State still has a revolving door when it comes to doctors."

With a nod, Kozik leaned against the counter in front of her refrigerator. Miriam eyes roamed over the white patches on his kutte, particularly the Tacoma one. She had to resist the urge to ask if he indeed was from Washington and how he ended up with the Charming charter but she figured that would be asking too much. The less she knew about the Sons of Anarchy as an organization and the members as people the better. "Do you have plans for the day?"

Miriam rarely had plans; plans were hard to make when she worked nearly 80 hours a week. Most of her off time was spent sleeping. When she had energy, she went to the gym. But today was Friday. On the rare occasion she had Friday evenings off, Miriam liked to attend Shabbat services at Stockton's only synagogue. Her parents were always more devout that Miriam. As a child, her family attended weekly Shabbat services, both Friday evening and Saturday morning, with a couple daily minyans during the week. After moving to California for college, Miriam fell off the wagon but nowadays she tried to attend when she could, if only because it made her mother happy.

She shared her plans with Kozik. "Shabbat?" The blonde asked with a raised eyebrow.

"It's a Jew thing." She wasn't in the mood to give anyone a Judaism lesson. "But if you feel that's a bad idea, I could not." Miriam didn't know how this nonsense worked; was it better to stay home or go out when people wanted to find and/or kill you?

"No, it's fine." Miriam wasn't convinced it actually was fine. "Do you have any weapons in the house?" Kozik asked, moving the subject away from her religious practices. "Judging by the way you answered the door with a kitchen knife, I'm going to guess no." Miriam shook her head, confirming his suspicions. She had to resist the urge to reach for the knife again as the blonde man pulled a gun out from inside his kutte. Closing the space between them, Kozik held it out for her take.

She hesitated. "I don't know how to use that."

"It's not that hard. Just point and shoot." With a frown, Miriam took the pistol in her hand. It was a bit heavier than she expected. Having never held a gun, the black coated metal felt foreign to her. During her residency, she was frequently stationed in the trauma unit and the effects of gun violence were not uncommon to Miriam. Owning a gun had never been something Miriam sought after.

"Is the safety on?" She asked after a minute. Kozik gave her a brief overview of the proper way to operate a firearm, right there in her kitchen. She thought about asking if the gun was legal, but decided against it. Again, the less she knew the better. "Where do I put it?" Surely, he wasn't expecting her to carry it around with her.

"Keep it in the house, somewhere you can get to it easily." Miriam nodded. "If you need me I'll be outside, no need for me to crowd you." A part of her wanted to send Kozik away, tell him to leave and take his gun with him. But she knew that would be foolish. The Sons of Anarchy were putting themselves out there to protect her for some reason; they needed her just as much as she needed them. And if that kept her safe, then she would just have to shallow her pride.

Miriam spent the rest of the day in a state of malaise, which wasn't wholly uncommon for her days off. Her mother had called, and Miriam had managed to make it through the conversation without drawing any suspicions that she was caught in the middle of some kind of organized crime beef. Taking a shower made her feel better, if only physically. When she wasn't starting at the gun that now rested on her bedside table, Miriam found herself constantly checking on Kozik, if he was still loitering in her driveway, if he was hungry. It got to the point where she just invited him inside, which he awkwardly accepted. She left him in the living room with the television as she retired to her bedroom to get ready for shabbat.

* * *

Kozik found the woman to be fidgety and restless, but overall she appeared to be handling the whole situation well enough. Chibs had mentioned the doctor's alternation with a Russian inmate, but Kozik didn't see any visible injuries. He did notice the way she constantly rubbed at her neck, but he wasn't sure if that was just a nervous tic or not. And she hadn't looked too please at the notion of keeping a gun in the house, but she didn't complain.

For the house itself, it wasn't located in the safest place. Sure, Morada was overall a safe town and the house's seclusion kept the probability of any criminal activity low but the lack of close neighbors and traffic meant anyone looking to cause harm wouldn't have to worry about witnesses or drawing unwanted attention. And the surrounding cherry orchard could easily be used as entry or exit routes, eliminating the need for the road all together. On the positive side, the home only had three entrances, the garage, the front door and a back door that led out onto a small brick patio. Each outer door had heavy locks but a security system would have been more helpful.

Somehow, Kozik found himself lounging on Miriam's tan suede couch as the doctor got dressed. The tv was on but the volume was turned down and Kozik periodically walked between the front door and the back, looking out the windows. Nothing was out of place. He had just come back from checking the back door when he found Miriam back in the living room, looking like a totally different person. Her unkempt hair had been tamed and now the brown ringlets curled neatly around her face, which featured a light dusting of make up. The black dress was conservative, falling just below her knee and gathering slightly at the waist. Simple black flats covered her feet. She looked like an actual functional adult.

She was busy stuffing her wallet and keys into a purse when she turned to him. "Good to go?"

He nodded, ready for a change in scenery.


	6. Chapter 6

**Day Twenty-Eight**

Stockton's only synagogue wasn't far from Miriam's home and the drive was uneventful but Miriam couldn't stop glancing in the rear view mirror at the black motorcycle that followed closely behind her. The parking lot was made too small to fit all the necessary cars so Miriam parked in her usual spot on the street with Kozik pulling in behind her. The synagogue's patrons were mostly older, retired couples and a few younger families. The Jewish community on the west coast was small enough that a couple of the older women had once attended the same synagogue as Miriam's mother when they were younger. They still kept in touch, meaning if Miriam stopped going to services, her mother would hear about it and Miriam would soon be on the receiving end of a religious lecture from her more devoted parents. Still, Miriam didn't mind going, it gave her something to do with her free time that wasn't sleeping or napping. The routine of it all was comforting.

As usual, the advertised hour long Sabbat service ran over ten minutes. Miriam had invited Kozik inside but the biker had insisted on staying out by the car. He was still there when she got out an hour later, lounging on his bike smoking a cigarette. Miriam knew that as she was walked towards her car, and Kozik, that she was being watched by some of the other patrons. If they had saw him when they arrived, none of them mentioned it to Miriam. Most likely, her mother would call her the next day wanting to know about her new blonde boyfriend. Miriam couldn't keep from rolling her eyes at the thought.

She stood before him she reached the corner of the block where they were parked, keys in hand. "Anything exciting happen out here?"

"Nothing at all. Anything in there?" He asked, finishing his cigarette.

Miriam shook her head. "Nope. Never."

The sun was nearly set by the time they returned to Miriam's home, turning the sky a dark blue. Kozik insisted that he be the first to enter the house and she let him, finally fully resigning herself to the protective status. She waited by the front door patiently as the man inspected the house for intruders. When he was satisfied he returned to the living room."All good, doc."

Miriam thanked him before moving to the kitchen and offering him a beer and food, thankful she had stopped at the market the previous day. "No, thanks. My replacement will be here any minute. I'll just check the backyard and wait for him outside." She made a face at the term replacement. She was just getting comfortable with having Kozik in her space and now a new person was coming? It made sense, she knew but Miriam wasn't happy about meeting another gang member outside the walls of the prison, even if they were there to protect her. It was too much exposure.

Kozik caught her disappointment. "What? Would you like me to stay?" There was a bounce in his tone and the smirk on his face portrayed his intent.

"No," Miriam said too quickly. "I'm sure you'd like to sleep in your own bed tonight, instead of my couch. No need for me to bore you all night."

"I highly doubt you'd be a bore, doc." He said playfully with a smile before moving to step out.

"Wait," Miriam called, causing Kozik to teeter in the doorway with one foot already outside. His smile was somehow wider now. Miriam pulled the spare key from its place in the bottom of the small junk drawer in the kitchen. "It's to the front door. You can pass it on to your replacement when he gets here." Giving a stranger a key to your house? Smart, she thought. Kozik accepted the small silver key and nodded a farewell before closing the door behind him, which Miriam then locked.

Now alone inside her home, Miriam wandered into her room and threw herself backwards onto the oversized bed, admiring the firm but soft mattress for a moment. For a moment, she listened to herself breathe for a few minutes, eyes on the white ceiling. It had been little over a day since Alexei attacked her in the infirmary. Nothing had happened since, so maybe nothing would happened. Still, knowing there was someone watching over her comforted her, even if it was unnecessary.

At the same time, this level of attention from the Sons of Anarchy would cost something. They were doing her a favor, keeping her alive and safe. Surely they would want something in return. She had seen _The Godfather_ enough times, she knew how these things worked. Even if they were currently doing this for their own benefit, she knew they would find a way to hold it over her head when they needed too, when they needed something from her.

With a huff, she decided to worry about that later. No point in dwelling on things yet to pass. Sitting up on the bed, Miriam kicked her shoes off, letting them fall to the floor. Her bedroom was dark, with just the light from the living room pouring in through the open doorway. It was too early to sleep, and despite having done nothing all day, Miriam was exhausted. Out of habit, her eyes fell to the small picture frame on her bedside table. The black and white photo had been taken at Lizzie's brother's wedding, about five years ago, when Lizzie served as a bridesmaid. Looking at it now broke Miriam's heart and so she leaned over and set the photo so it laid face down on the table, not for the first time.

Her eyes then went to the gun that rested on the same table. Or, at least where Miriam had last put the gun because it was no longer there. She froze. Retracing her earlier steps, Miriam was certain she had placed the gun on the table next to her bed. Perhaps Kozik had moved it when he inspected her house when they returned. Or maybe someone else moved it. That thought brought Miriam to her feet. She look a step to the door but never made if any farther.

* * *

Chibs arrived soon after Kozik returned from his walk around the house. The Scotsman lit a cigarette as Kozik gave him all the boring details of the day. "Was your day anymore exciting?"

"Got a call from the Russians. They want to meet." Chibs looked over the dark exterior of the house as he spoke, the two men standing in Miriam's driveway next to their bikes.

"No shit? When?"

"Monday, at the Jellybean."

Kozik shifted his eyes to the house as well. "They say anything about the doc?" Chibs shook his head. "I think if they were going to do anything they would have already done it."

Chibs nodded, finishing his cigarette in record time. "Still, we should keep an eye on her until the Monday. It would be easier to do that if we brought her back to the clubhouse."

The blonde man chuckled. "She might fight us on that. I gave her the gun and she about fainted." Kozik doubted the doctor who welcome the idea of her leaving her home to spend the rest of the weekend at the Sons of Anarchy clubhouse. He could tell she wanted to keep her distance from them. As much as possible and still remain safe, anyways. But moving her to a more secure location was wise, and he was certain she would see that. Kozik opened his mouth to ask after Jax when the sound of glass breaking came from inside Miriam's house.

Briefly, Chibs and Kozik shared a look of confusion at the noise before darting to the front door. Remembering the key Miriam had handed him just thirty minutes prior, Kozik dug the piece of silver out of his pocket and stuck it in the keyhole and turned it, pushing the door open. Movement inside the house immediately caught their attention as they barrelled into the entryway. A figure, or was it two, Kozik couldn't be certain, was darting towards the backdoor.

Without speaking, the two Sons separated: Chibs headed after the fleeing intruder, chasing them out the back door into the night, while Kozik went in search of Miriam. He heard the doctor before he saw her. Muffled crying emitted from the bedroom and from the open door Kozik could see the source of the noise that alerted Chibs and him. The small lamp that had been placed on the bedside table had been pushed to the floor, shattering the light bulb and taking a picture frame down with it. Small bits of glass littered the floor near the door, crushing under the weight of Kozik's boot as he stepped into the room.

Flicking the light switch on, Kozik found Miriam curled up on the floor, her back leaning against the side of the bed. For a second, he thought she was okay, except for the obvious tears, until his eyes noticed the red stains on the now disheveled bedspread. "Miriam?" He said loud enough that the doctor should have been able to hear him. She didn't respond, continuing to sob quietly into the hands that covered her face with her knees bent up to chest. Bloody hands, Kozik noticed. He repeated her name, louder and harsher this time to get her attention.

Bending down, Kozik grabbed her shoulder and squeezed lightly, trying to pull her from her crying long enough figure out where the blood had come from. The physical touch didn't have the calming effect he hoped for, instead it caused the doctor to panic. Kicking out, her barefoot collided with Kozik's shin at such an angel he was sure it caused her more pain than was inflicted on him. Her hands were more effective though, slapping and pushing Kozik away, causing him to stumble against the wall.

"Don't touch me." The doctor growled through gritted teeth. Her hands in fists now by her side, Kozik was able to see where all the blood had come from. Someone had taken a knife and carved a line from just under her left ear down to the center of neck. The blade didn't appear to have hit any important arteries and cut wasn't deep but the constant and consistent bleeding was enough to be a concern.

Her brown eyes, formerly distant but not unkind, were now glazed over with fear. "I'm not going to hurt you, Miriam." Kozik noticed her fists were shaking, fingers pushing into her palms. Blood was smeared across most of her face and neck and the exposed skin of her collarbone. Her hair was frizzy, like someone had pulled their hands through it. Kozik put his hands up to where she could see them, a sign of surrender. "Miriam, we need to stop the bleeding, okay? Let me get you to a doctor."

Eyes focusing, but never leaving him, Miriam raised a shaky hand to her throat, putting it against the wound for a second before pulling it away so she could see the blood. "Shit." Kozik heard her whisper. It took little coaxing to get Miriam to her feet then. Handing her a thick towel from the bathroom, Kozik watched as she held it to her still bleeding neck. Her body was still shaking but she appeared steady enough.

"What happened?" Kozik asked.

The doctor turned from him then, and he was worried she wouldn't answer. Instead, Miriam pushed her feet into her discarded shoes before speaking. "Two of them. They must have been in the house already. They took the gun." Saying nothing more, the doctor stepped into the living room. "You'll have to drive my car. I'll probably fall off the back of your bike like this." Her voice was rough and low.

Chibs walked in from the back room then, breathing heavy, causing Miriam to freeze midstep, at least until she noticed his kutte. "She alright?" Chibs asked, looking at the doctor and the bloodied mess that was her appearance.

Kozik turned his back to the woman in question as he whispered his answer to the Scot. "Two of them. Tired to slit her throat. She needs stitched up." Chibs kept his eyes on the doctor who was busy digging her keys out of the oversized purse of hers. Only having the use of one hand, the other trying to stop the bleeding with the towel, was proving difficult for her. But she seemed to prefer the struggle than being involved in their conversation. "She hasn't said much."

With a nod, Chibs returned his gaze back to Kozik. "I chased both of them into the orchard but its too dark out there. I couldn't see shit." The sound of Miriam's purse hitting the hardwood floor caused both men to look back at her. She had dropped her bag but she held her car keys in her free hand. Kozik swore he saw the ghost of a triumphant smirk on her face as she held the keys out in his direction, jingling them softly. "Tara's at St. Thomas. Take her there. I'll meet you once I clean up this mess."


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey, folks. First off, thanks for reading and reviewing and following. I never expected this story to get this much attention. Y'all are great.  
**

 **Second off, this chapter features brief talk of sexual assault. Nothing overly explicit but it's there. Just wanted to give everyone a heads up.**

* * *

 **Day Twenty-Eight**

The bleeding had stopped by the time they reached St. Thomas Hospital. Miriam wasn't sure why Kozik insisted on driving her to Charming when St. Joseph's in Stockton was closer but she didn't voice her confusion. She didn't speak at all, not even to chastise the blonde man for his overly aggressive driving. Her hands had eventually stopped shaking, leaving Miriam to clutch at the door every time Kozik took a curve too fast. She made a mental note to clean the blood out of her car later. Miriam found the silence between the two of them easy, despite the night's previous events.

"Have you thought of a story to tell them?" Miriam finally spoke after Kozik threw her abused vehicle into a parking spot outside the main entrance of the hospital. "'Two Russians broke into my home and attacked me' seems a little too conspicuous, don't you think?"

She waited for him to open the door for her so she wouldn't get any more blood on the interior. No need to make a small mess bigger. "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it." Kozik led her inside, careful not to touch her. He had been careful with her ever since she had lashed out at him in the bedroom. Miriam gave herself another reminder to apologize later. Judging by the receptionist's reaction, Miriam was certain she looked horrible, like she had nearly been killed by the Russian mafia. Thankfully, the emergency room wasn't busy so there weren't many people to gawk at Miriam's bloody appearance. Still, the injured doctor tried her best to her hide her face behind the bloody bath towel she had been using to stop the bleeding.

"We need to see Dr. Knowles," Kozik began, pulling the receptionist's attention away from a silent Miriam, who was staring at the tiled floor. They didn't have to wait long before the doctor in question appeared from around the corner. In her exhaustion, it took Miriam a moment to connect the dots. Dr. Knowles. Tara Knowles. This was the woman Jackson Teller had requested Miram call when he had been attacked. The woman was a doctor, which explained the type of questions Tara had asked her on the phone. How does a doctor get involved with a guy like Teller, Miriam found herself wondering before remembering where she was and how she had gotten there.

Tara was short, the same height as Miriam, with straight brown hair looped up into a bun atop her head and a small round nose. She gave Miriam a quick glance over before leading her, and Kozik, to an examination room at the end of the hall. Once the door of the room was shut, blocking any wandering eyes that had followed them, Miriam tossed the bloodied towel on the small table before hopping up on the large examination chair. She ignored the pain in her neck and thighs as she pulled her disheveled hair up into a bun atop her head in order to give Tara room to work. It had been a long time since Miriam was on the other side of a doctor. She knew doctors made the worst patients, but Miriam was too tired and mentally distracted to even think about evaluating Dr. Knowles technique with the stitches that sewed her wound close.

The man had managed to avoid hitting an arteries, whether through skilled hands or just sheer luck, Miriam wasn't certain. The cut started just below her left ear, travelling across her neck to end at the base of her throat. In all, the wound was a five inch curved line that would most likely remain as a scar once healed. Miriam stared at the ceiling as Dr. Knowles washed the blood from her skin. If the silence in the room was awkward, Miriam didn't notice. For a long time the only sound was the ticking of the small clock that hanged next to the door.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" The attending doctor asked, after cleaning the cut. Kozik remained in the room with them and again Miriam felt crowded and irritated by his presence, like she was being babysat. She needed to speak with Tara about things she did not want the Son to know about.

"I got cut." Miriam wasn't sure how in the loop Dr. Knowles was and any existing boundaries were never explained to her. She remembered that the doctor was Teller's girlfriend but that didn't tell her much. When she flicked her eyes to Kozik sitting in the chair across from them, the man gave her a small nod, signalling that it was okay to talk openly. Miriam also suspected that he was hoping to get more details than she had given him earlier at her house. "Two strange men came into my home," she shrugged as Kozik and Tara, almost strangers themselves, watched her. "One threatened me with a knife as the other kept watch. He told me to stay out of their business. That if I interfered again, they would pay me another visit. I think he cut me so I would remember it."

Miriam shut her mouth and was resigned not to open it again until Tara was done stitching the wound close. Kozik remained silent as well, wearing a frown on his face. The doctor was bandaging Miriam's neck when a phone rang, breaking the silence and causing to Miriam to start at the sudden noise. It took the blonde man a moment to dig his cell phone out of his pocket but Kozik eventually answered it and excused himself out into the hallway, leaving the two women alone.

The silence was starting to become unbearable, threatening to suffocate Miriam."So, you're Tara."

The two women met eyes for the first time. "And you're Dr. Katz."

"Miriam." Anything more formal didn't feel right for the situation. "They let you see Teller?"

"Only for a minute." Tara returned her eyes to her work, nearly finished. "Still have to follow prison protocol when it comes to visitation."

"How is he?"

"Good, a bit sore. The doctors say he'll probably be discharged in a week or so. He told me you saved his life."

Miriam found herself shrugging again. "Just doing my job."

Tara raised an eyebrow. "Seems like doing your job has gotten you into a mess." Miriam wanted to ask Tara how she ended up as a gang member's girlfriend but she was sure that would cross her self imposed line. Don't get too personal, she reminded herself.

Tara turned her back to clean up the small mess she had made while cleaning Miriam's cut, tossing bits of packaging into the small trashcan. Kozik was still out in the hallway; she could see his shadow through the gap at the bottom of the door, pacing back and forth. When she done with the clean up, Tara turned back around and fixed her eyes on Miriam. It was a heavy, knowing look on her slender face. "Now you wanna tell me what really happened?" Her voice was firm but still quiet as she took a step closer. Tara had been the one to notice the scratches just above her knees. Under her dress, Miriam knew one would find bruises where the man had forced her legs apart. Kozik and Chibs had been too distracted by the blood to see anything else.

Miriam's stomach twisted. She hadn't been honest in front of Kozik and didn't want to be. The men must hidden themselves somewhere inside her bedroom. Her closet maybe, Miriam wasn't certain. One of them had grabbed her from behind, with a hand over her mouth pulling her away from the door. She never saw the second man, just his outline as he stood in the doorway, looking out into the rest of her house. Miriam struggled initially as the first man forced her backwards and down on the bed but she stopped when she felt the point of a knife against her throat. Things went as Miriam had said they did. The man threatened her and then cut her.

But Miriam had eventually fought back, spitting, kicking, and failing her arms at the body above her. He didn't like that. In the darkness, Miriam was unable to see the man's face but she could tell he was larger than her as he pinned her to the bed with his superior weight. Through her struggle, she determined he was bald but with a short beard. She remembered how her nails had dug into his own throat as she tried to push him away. In return, the man had cursed at her in Russian before forcing her over onto her stomach. When his fist twisted in her hair and forced her head down into the mattress, Miriam was worried he meant to smother her. But then she felt him move between her legs. The hand that forced it's way up her dressed clawed at her waist to keep her in place. It hadn't lasted long and if Miriam had screamed as the man forced himself inside her, it was absorbed by the thick bedding. She wasn't sure how but Miriam had managed to kick the lamp on her night stand to the floor. The sound of shattering glass had brought Kozik and Chibs to her rescue. If there was anything to rescue, Miriam wondered.

Now, a part of Miriam was happy for the darkness of her bedroom. At least she wouldn't have a face haunting her in the eventual nightmares.

"I can do an exam if you'd like?" Tara's voice brought her back from memory lane.

Miriam shook her head, an excuse not to meet Tara's eyes. "No, I'll be fine for now. Just schedule me a follow-up."

"You sure?" The doctor was looking at her strangely. It reminded Miriam of the way her mother use to look at her as a child. It made Miriam want to cry. Or scream.

Still avoiding Tara's eyes, Miriam nodded, standing from the uncomfortable exam chair. "Yeah, doc. I'm sure. And I'd appreciate if you didn't mention this to Kozik or the rest of the guys."

Dr. Knowles wasn't happy with Miriam's decision and as a fellow doctor, she understood why. But Miriam had been violated once already that night and she wasn't prepared to address it with a stranger, medical professional or not. She wanted a shower and a bed, not a intrusive exam. Besides, Kozik had chosen that moment to poke his blonde head back into the room.

The biker looked between the two women but only addressed Tara, causing Miriam to roll her eyes. "She good to go?"

To her credit, Tara wiped the concern off her face before turning towards the door. "Yeah. You know the routine. Keep the wound clean. Take it slow so you don't pull out the stitches. If there's pain, a couple ibuprofen should do."

Miriam thanked the doctor, who simply gave her a tight smile before returning to her other work. Kozik was silent as they walked back to the car, even as he opened the door for her once again. Miriam wished she had asked Tara for a sleeping pill. Or some narcotics.

After a minute or two of staring into space, Miriam noticed Kozik wasn't heading back to her house. "Where are we going?"

Taking his eyes off the road, Kozik looked her over. His gaze lingered on her, temporarily forgetting the road in front of them. "The clubhouse. That okay?"

She met his eyes. "Is there a bed there I can use?" Returning to the scene of the crime right now probably wasn't a good idea. She'd deal with that mess later.

"Yep."

"With pillows?" The blonde man nodded. "Fine by me."

* * *

It was a little pass midnight when they arrived at the Sons of Anarchy clubhouse, a stone's throw from a Teller-Morrow automotive. Miriam was too tired to pay attention to anything as Kozik led her inside, down a hall and into a room that looked like a college boy's dorm. Kozik pushed a towel into her arms and directed her to the bathroom while mumbling something about finding clean sheets. Normally, Miriam would have reservations about using a strange shower but this was her life now apparently. Saying a silent prayer, Miriam let the scalding hot water pour of her body. It burned but worse things had touched her skin that night. Once the hot water disappeared, Miriam finally used what soap and shampoo she could find to wash herself. It made her smell like a man, she noted as she stepped out of the shower to find a a set of clothes laying on the atop the toilet. As she dressed, Miriam avoided looking at her body.

When Miriam finally left the bathroom, she found Kozik struggling to put a clean white sheet on the mattress. A ghost of a smile found it's way to her face as she watched him fight with a corner. "You don't change sheets often, do you?"

There was a smile on his face when he looked over his shoulder at where she stood by the bathroom door. "Probably not as often as I should." Giving in, Miriam walked across the thin carpet barefoot and helped Kozik make the bed. She wasn't sure what these rooms were used for, wayward guests like herself or something more nefarious, but she was thankful for the bed nonetheless.

Whatever tension there was between Miriam and Kozik seemed to have washed down the drain with the rest of the grim that had clung to her skin. "You're back to looking like that disheveled college girl."

There hadn't been a brush of any kind in the bathroom so her damp hair was still ratted and tangled but not as frizzy. The clothes obviously belonged to a man: the thick, oil strained black sweatpants were much too long and the tee shirt was about three sizes too big. The large grim reaper printed on the front wasn't really her style but it was soft enough that Miriam wasn't going to complain.

With her bandaged neck, she probably looked like a hot mess. "A college girl who took a drunken tumble down a flight of stairs at a frat party." Miriam said with a nod of her head and a laugh. The first and only frat party Miriam attended in college ended at the hospital after she fell off the table she had been dancing atop of. She didn't drink for the rest of the semester.

"Do you need anything else, doc?" Kozik asked but Miriam shook her head.

"Just a good night's sleep."

"Right," the blonde man, walking towards the door. "If you need anything, I'll be in the room at the end of the hall."

Kozik turned his back and opened the door to leave. Before he could, Miriam called his name and found herself taking an involuntary step towards him. "Thanks," Miriam started once he looked back, unable to keep her hands from fidgeting with each other. "For everything."

The man smiled again, his blue eyes shining in the yellow light of the strange bedroom. "Anything for you, doc."


End file.
